


Echo It

by mugenmine



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Power Play, Spanking, Wits On Tap Challenge, sub!Sherlock, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugenmine/pseuds/mugenmine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Submission to the"<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Wits_on_Tap_2015">Wits on Tap 2015</a>" poetry remix challenge.  <em>Echo it</em> is based on <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/">redscudery’s</a> lovely and kinky fic <em>Ricochet</em>. </p><p>The original Ricochet summary was: <i> Sherlock sneaks them back into the games room because he just can't get those ping-pong paddles out of his head. John obliges him.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Echo It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redscudery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ricochet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217413) by [redscudery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery). 



The first strike opens his eyes,  
wakes Sherlock up.  
Thin wood bites against his palm  
and echoes in the dark.

Sharp and warm and ephemeral,  
gone too soon.  
A kiss with teeth.

Seeking stronger stimuli he hits himself again.  
Wrist next,  
and the sting ignites  
pinpoints of pain,  
arc across skin,  
fleeting and bright.

Yellow if sensation held colour,  
tipped with orange.

He closes his eyes and  
imagines flames licking down the length of him.

His inhale an invitation, exhale an invocation.

In John’s hands now, the colours will come different,  
all at once,  
or not at all.  
In John’s hands, he must wait.

Sherlock counts his fingers,  
right to left,  
hands spread open and wide,  
palms flat against hard green.  
Elbows on white edge lines.

In the silence before John gifts him with longed for and beautiful suffering,  
distraction takes hold.

Numbers fill his head.  
Two point seven four meters long,  
one point five-two-five meters wide,  
seventy-six centimetres high.

The table, he is bent over and waiting,  
reduced down to the elements.

Cool air brushes over bare skin,  
belt and trousers tangled around his ankles.

He is not allowed to step out of them, or fold them, or set them atop the table, next to his hands. A reminder of the state he is in.  
Humbled.  
Radiant.

 _Please_ , is all John needs to bring his hand down.  
_Please_ , is all John needs to start again.

Sherlock’s heart is  
electric,  
staccato,  
flutters and races against the bone cage,  
seeking a tighter embrace and a crueler hand  
from the man who loves him.

The shock of the blow ripples through him and steals his breath on the way out.

He shuts his eyes and asks for another.  
Red-tipped streaks light up the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and thank you to redscudery for organizing this very cool challenge. It was a pleasure to be able to participate!


End file.
